


An Ode to Love

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Merlin and Arthur have kept their feelings for each other secret for years. Now they have a chance to make it right.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 224





	An Ode to Love

>>>

Arthur wakes to the sound of rain. He opens his eyes, slowly adjusting to the pale, grey dawn light, the patter of water on the low, sloping eaves above his head, drumming against the window. The space beside him in bed is empty, the sheets cool. He stretches out his palm to feel the place where Merlin slept beside him, his heart aching with a familiar, empty yearning. It’s a sore, raw, pulsating bruise of a muscle.

He stares at the ceiling for a while, mind carefully blank, trying to absorb all the ways this thing with Merlin feels wrong. Categorising every hurt, cataloguing each one, trying to make sense of it all. How they’ve ended up here, staying in his father’s damp fishing lodge in Scotland, banishing themselves until they’ve found answers. 

Eventually he rolls out of bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold stone floor. He pulls on socks and a thick woolly jumper over his tartan pyjama bottoms and thin t-shirt, padding from the small bedroom into the cosy kitchen beyond. He lights the Aga, fills the tin kettle, settles it over a flame. Sees Merlin through the rattling window, standing at the edge of the garden, barefoot in the sodden grass, back stiff and unyielding against the driving wind and rain. He’s staring out at the steely loch, arms wrapped around himself in Arthur’s old jersey. His lonely stillness pierces something in Arthur; he can feel some of his brittle tension softening. Sighing, he slips on his father’s old boots by the backdoor, fills two rough mugs with hot black coffee, and heads outside, quietly coming to stand next to his dark-haired friend. He holds out a mug, and Merlin accepts it, wrapping his cold fingers around it, not looking at Arthur.

“I feel like we’re at the end of the world,” he muses, voice low and strained, dark eyelashes glistening with raindrops, sweeping shadows over his cheekbones, face taut as he stares unseeingly at the water. Arthur stands behind him and leans his head against Merlin’s back in a gesture of apology, shivering as cold water runs down his neck. He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to be with Merlin like this. There’s too much lying between them, too many secrets, too much anger, too much mutual pain. They’re both idiots.

He rubs his forehead against the sharp, angular bone of Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin sips his coffee. He’d tried to broach the gap with Arthur last night, after they’d arrived full of apprehension and expectation, both nervous, both uncertain. Their ten-hour drive north had been near-silent. Merlin made the first move once they were both lying next to each other, sharing a bed for the first time, bravely crossing the chasm of space between them, the room throbbing with electricity. He’d rolled over and slid a leg between Arthur’s, running a tentative hand across his chest, along Arthur’s clenched jaw, turning Arthur’s face to his to press dry lips against his, nose nudging Arthur’s.

Arthur had responded, of course. He’d immediately hardened, pulling Merlin against him, kissing him with all the passion he’d been pushing down for the past five years, all brimming to the surface like a molten, burning volcano threatening to explode and destroy. It was Merlin moaning against him that made his blood freeze, made him suddenly withdraw and roll away. He’s heard too many other men draw those same sounds from Merlin’s chest. The memories - breathing, haunting, evil, living things - threaten to drown him sometimes. All the times he’s heard another man make Merlin come. All the times he’s walked in and seen Merlin’s face contorted in pleasure, body arching beneath someone else. All the times he’s seen him laugh, face bright, shining, as someone new catches his attention.

Merlin had paused, waiting for Arthur to explain. Met with silence, he’d curled away at Arthur’s rejection, turning his back to Arthur to face the wall. Arthur suspects that neither of them slept much.

“You have to stop doubting me.” Merlin murmurs, still staring at the water. “ _Us_.” Arthur steps back and moves to sit on the low, mossy stone wall in front of him, drinking his coffee and looking up at the man he loves.

“How can I not?” he asks quietly. Frustration flickers across Merlin’s face.

“We’ve both hurt each other,” Merlin says, finally looking at him. “Neither of us meant to do that.” He sighs heavily and comes to sit next to Arthur, thighs touching. He slips his fingers between Arthur’s, squeezing his hand. “We have a chance now. We can’t just throw it away because it’s hard.” Arthur nods, squeezing back. But it’s not as easy as it sounds.

*

Merlin’s been his best friend since they started the same sixth form at sixteen. Arthur was straight, back then, happily dating Gwen. Everything had been fine, defined, uncomplicated, until university. He and Merlin had both gone to Durham, both studied History, lived together. It was glorious - until the first time Arthur had seen Merlin kissing someone at a nightclub, and realised his heart was broken.

He’d known then that he was in love with his best friend. Coming to terms with what that meant about his sexuality had taken time. Being brave enough to break up with Gwen had taken time. They were in their second year before Arthur had fully accepted how he felt. And through it all, Merlin was discovering and exploring and celebrating his own sexuality. Their flat had become an extended revolving door for Merlin’s carousel of boyfriends, flings, lovers. Merlin was shameless and unreserved about his nudity, sex in their communal spaces, being touched in full sight of his friends. Every instance witnessed was a dagger to Arthur. His heart was slowly sliced to shreds.

“We should start house-hunting,” Merlin had said three months ago, with third-year final exams approaching. They’d both got jobs in London, starting in the autumn, securing their first tentative steps into the adult world for post-graduation. Naturally he’d assumed they’d carry on living together; why wouldn’t he? Arthur had felt a well of panic rising inside him and shaken his head before he even realised what he was doing.

“I can’t,” he’d admitted, closing his eyes. Merlin’s brow had furrowed, nose wrinkling, and he’d come to sit beside Arthur on their sofa, kicking his leg with socked feet.

“What do you mean, you ‘can’t’?” he’d said in total bafflement. Arthur had finally broken.

“I can’t live with you anymore,” he’d admitted, the truth pouring out of him without his permission. “I’m in love with you, Merls. It hurts too much being close to you. I’m sorry.”

The silence that had filled their university flat was resounding. Merlin had moved back immediately, withdrawing to his own corner of the armchair, face in his hands. Arthur half wanted to claw the words back, devastated that he might have so carelessly ruined their friendship, but the other part of him knew that self-preservation had become absolutely necessary. He’d listened to the clock ticking, the sound of the traffic rumbling past on the cobbled streets outside their building. To his surprise, after an eternity, Merlin had shuffled closer, carefully turning Arthur’s face to his and pressing his lips to Arthur’s.

“I’ve been in love with you since the first day I met you,” he’d whispered quietly, pressing his forehead against Arthur’s, shaking fingers stroking his jaw. Arthur had sat in shock, disbelieving and numb.

“You never said,” he refuted. Merlin smiled sadly.

“Neither did you. I thought you were straight.”

“I broke up with Gwen a year and a half ago,” Arthur had rambled, brain scrambling. “There hasn’t been anyone since then.” He’d looked at Merlin with a growing sense of betrayal. “I couldn’t. Not feeling about you the way that I do.”

Merlin had half-laughed, half-cried, shaking his head in disbelief, gripping Arthur’s face more tightly, something like joy beginning to illuminate his features. It was that that had made Arthur finally snap, pulling away from his embrace.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he’d said tightly, standing up and moving towards his bedroom, needing space. Merlin had caught him immediately, hugging him tightly.

“I’m not,” he’d promised, forcing Arthur to look at him. “I’m really not.” He’d shrugged, face wet and happy. “But it’s stupid, isn’t it? We’ve loved each other all this time.” He’d shaken his head again, biting his lip. “God, if you hadn’t said something. You’re so much braver than me.”

He’d smiled at Arthur with bright, clear adoration, brushing his lips against Arthur’s in invitation, frowning at Arthur’s lack of response.

“What’s wrong?” he’d asked, hands sliding down to Arthur’s chest. “We know now.”

Arthur couldn’t believe that Merlin felt even one iota the depth of feeling for Arthur that Arthur had for him. How could he, when he’d so happily let so many other men touch him?

They’d argued. Arthur’s reticence had infuriated Merlin. Merlin said the reason he’d never been able to fall in love, or settle on one person, was because he’d been so completely love with Arthur. That he’d tried to bury his feelings by distracting himself with other people. That seeing Arthur in love with Gwen had torn him to pieces for three years.

After hours of talking, mutual recriminations, explanations, they’d both agreed that they had to try. It wasn’t an option not to. They’d both regret it for the rest of their lives if they didn’t give each other the chance they now knew existed to find mutual happiness and belonging, to forgive each other for their adolescent years of confusion.

But they’d put it on hold - the trying. With final exams coming up, and a flat to pack up, and graduation to survive, they couldn’t afford the distraction. They’d agreed to wait until the summer holidays. To come up to Arthur’s father’s fishing lodge to spend some undisturbed time together. To see if they could work. To see if living together in London come September was an option - whether as friends, or lovers.

*

And now they’re sitting shivering in the rain, on day one of their holiday.

“I’m scared,” Arthur admits, faintly embarrassed.

“We both are,” Merlin replies, putting his mug down, curling his bare toes in the grass. “With everything we mean to each other, we know we have a lot to lose.” Their friendship, for starters. Nothing’s even happened between them yet, but already Arthur doubts he could go back to just being Merlin’s friend.

“You know I’ve never been with a man before,” Arthur says quietly. “I might not be very good at it. You’ve been waxing lyrical about all your mind-blowing sexual experiences for years. How can I even begin to compete with all of that?” Merlin pulls his hand away.

“There’s no competition,” he says tiredly, anger creeping across his face again. “Sex when you’re in love with someone is more than just a bodily connection, or so I understand. I’ve never been in love with anyone who isn’t you. I’ve never slept with anyone where that emotional element was there. You have. You slept with Gwen for years. It’s like asking how _I_ can match that?”

Arthur pulls Merlin to him immediately, holding his wrists.

“I _never_ felt about her how I feel about you,” he says firmly, looking at Merlin. “It’s like trying to compare a candle to the sun. I _left_ her because of you.” Merlin strokes his face tenderly.

“Then why can’t you believe it’s the same for me?” he asks simply. “Candles to the sun.” Arthur nods, feeling choked up. Logically he knows Merlin is right. It’s just proving to be impossible to re-wire himself. To believe that he can really have this. To believe that Merlin could really feel the same way.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For freaking out last night.” Merlin shakes his head and leans forwards to kiss him.

“Come and have a shower with me,” he whispers. “And then let’s walk that awful three miles to the nearest town to get supplies. And _then_ begin our holiday properly. I seem to recall you mentioning an abundance of castles?”

Arthur nods, standing and pulling Merlin into his arms. They hold each other tightly, shivering, wet, half-crying and half-laughing at themselves.

*

Arthur has never been so self-conscious about showering before. He’s used to being naked around other men. Playing rugby at school and university, male nudity in the locker room had become an occupational hazard. He’s even used to padding around Merlin in nothing but a towel, having lived together for three years. But individually stripping out of their wet clothes and turning to face each other naked for the first time, Arthur feels like he’s fifteen again. He takes in Merlin’s tall, lean body, the corded muscles, the long, heavy cock. His mouth waters slightly. Merlin smiles at him a little bashfully and climbs into the shower, turning on the hot water. Steam soon fills the bathroom. Arthur takes a deep breath and climbs in behind him, stifling a gasp as Merlin turns and presses his solid, naked body against Arthur’s.

Both of them are hard, stiff cocks pressing into each other’s stomachs, but they simply stand under the hot water, warming up, hands gently curving around each other’s necks. Arthur kisses Merlin first, carefully tracing the plump swell of his lower lip with his tongue, slowing parting his own lips to allow Merlin to lick into his mouth. Despite its newness, its spine-tingling, butterfly-inducing, heart-stopping novelty, it also feels natural and second-nature and _known_ , somehow, as if kissing Merlin is written into Arthur’s bones. Merlin makes muted, needy noises against him, relaxing into Arthur’s arms, body moulding to fit his, and he begins to relax into their profound, familiar closeness, breath hitching when he thinks they might never have discovered they could be like this with each other. It terrifies him to his core, how fragile the veil is between knowing and not knowing. How easily it can tear. How easily it can go unnoticed.

Once they’ve carefully explored and familiarised themselves with each other’s mouths, they break into mutual grins, nuzzling each other in affection and amusement whilst kneading soap into each other’s skin, learning each other’s geography. The water runs cold before they reluctantly leave the close, small, steamy safety of the shower to brush teeth and get dressed, eyes flicking curiously to each other’s bodies, darting away guiltily, as though looking is still forbidden.

They hold hands beneath a big golf umbrella as they walk into the nearest village, the rain showing no sign of stopping. It’s not cold, exactly - although they both wear sweaters underneath their waterproofs - but the grey damp of the summer wetness feels chilling nonetheless, adding to their already nervous shivers. Arthur loves the feeling of Merlin’s hand in his, the novelty of walking together as a couple. He loves the feeling of newness, walking around the local store picking out things to cook. It’s something they’ve done a million times as flatmates, but never like this, with Merlin’s hand in the small of Arthur’s back, his dipped smile as Arthur chooses a bottle of whisky, a block of dark chocolate, lips curving as he imagines being curled by the fire together later this evening, peat and sugar on their tongues as they taste each other again.

Merlin extricates himself from Arthur’s hold to pop into the visitor centre, exiting with a handful of brochures and maps, and Arthur can’t help but kiss his temple, shocked and delighted and terrified by their shaky, precious new intimacy.

It’s a day spent together, learning to be comfortable with each other again, in their new mould. They unpack their shopping, make cheese and pickle sandwiches and a flask of tea, put on their hiking boots, and go rambling over the surrounding peaks to a secluded, ruined fort nestled in an outcrop of trees. They find a cove of rocks where they can shelter from the wind and rain and squeeze close together as they eat their picnic, hands and mouths occasionally finding each other as they learn how to fit together like this, quiet as they lean back against the damp stone and stare out at the stunning valley sprawling beneath them, heavy grey rainclouds rolling and misty overhead, imbuing everything with an ethereal, dreamy, unrealness.

When they get home it’s already growing dark, and thunder and lightning has set in. They strip out of their wet clothes into dry flannels and woollens, and Merlin begins to prepare his mother’s sausage casserole as Arthur lights the fire. They eat and play card games and listen to music and wash up and then curl together on the sofa, Arthur stroking Merlin’s hair as they watch a Bond film, the storm making their cabin shake and howl.

The whisky comes out, and the fire stays stoked, and the warmth of these things mellows them as they finally, _finally_ , allow their hands to explore, their bodies to melt together into something new and singular. Somehow they move from the sofa to the rug in front of the fire, pulling the cushions and rug with them, and they pull off items of each other’s clothing until they’re toeing off their own socks and pressing their naked, wanting bodies against each other, drinking in the hitches of breath, the gasps, the bitten off, relieved moans, the soft, reassuring whispers.

Arthur fights against closing his eyes as Merlin’s dark head kisses its way down his body, mouth enveloping Arthur in a tight, generous heat. It’s been so long since anyone has touched him like this. Merlin sucks him slowly, languidly, devotedly, fingers stroking Arthur’s thighs as his tongue plays with Arthur’s foreskin. The smudginess of it all, the softness, brings tears to Arthur’s eyes, and he feels tremors run through his chest as he arches and comes inside Merlin’s mouth, fingers gripping hair, holding on to reality as best he can. Merlin stills his movements and lies with his head against Arthur’s stomach, fingers drawing circles on his belly as Arthur comes back to himself. He tilts Merlin’s chin up to look at him when his brain has re-engaged, stroking the reddened mouth, the soft lips, the smooth curve of cheekbone, the delicate eyelids.

“I love you,” he says quietly, and Merlin kisses his fingers, eye-contact unwavering.

“I love you,” he murmurs, sucking Arthur’s thumb into his mouth and licking its soft pad of skin down to the silver ring at its base that Arthur always wears. Arthur gasps, cradling Merlin’s head, and pulling him up his body to kiss him properly. He slowly parts his legs, moving Merlin’s hand between his thighs in silent invitation. Merlin pulls back a little to look at him, stroking the skin between his arse cheeks with a soft, slow, gentle reverence.

“There’s no hurry,” he smiles, sliding his tongue against Arthur’s, and then slowly along the curve of his ear, and then down the straining column of his neck.

“I want you,” Arthur gasps, body arching. “I want to know you that way.”

Merlin kisses him with endless sweetness, before standing and pulling Arthur after him into the bedroom, pressing him into the mattress. Arthur floats in a haze as Merlin caresses and kisses his body, oily fingers working their way inside him, eyes constantly seeking his, searching for discomfort, seeking permission, cataloguing pleasure. He feels molten and burning under Merlin’s attention, the steady rain and crackling fire and creaking house an atmospheric, unearthly soundtrack to being unravelled and put back together as something new.

They’d both been tested before their exams, not wanting the barriers of condoms with each other, and soon Merlin presses the spongey head of his cock against Arthur’s entrance and nudges ever so slightly in, pausing as Arthur squeezes his eyes closed and adjusts to the intrusion. Merlin kisses his neck as he slowly, slowly advances inside, moaning when he finally bottoms out, balls pressed against Arthur’s arse. Arthur tries to adjust the sensation, feeling an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, but he hitches his hips slightly to show Merlin that he’s okay. Merlin shakes his head against Arthur’s shoulder.

“I need a moment,” he mumbles, breathing heavily. “I’ve never done it bare.”

Arthur strokes his back as he gathers himself, and then Merlin is moving, mouth attached to Arthur’s, and they’re locked together in all ways, fitting together perfectly, Merlin’s breath hot against his collarbone as he struggles to control himself, sounds climbing louder and louder as he buries himself again and again inside Arthur’s body.

Arthur tries not to disengage; to shut down the soundtrack memories of Merlin doing this with other men, but he only partially succeeds, feeling relieved when Merlin eventually releases himself inside Arthur and stills against him.

He’s more relieved still when Merlin withdraws and he can curl on his side, protectively bringing up his knees against his chest, trying to stop the pain. Merlin curls behind him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s chest, kissing the back of his neck, tenderly and affectionately holding him in a post-coital embrace, a satisfied purr thrumming against Arthur’s back.

“Okay?” he whispers eventually, suddenly conscious of Arthur’s stillness, his absolute silence. Arthur nods into his pillow. Merlin gently turns him so that they’re facing each other. His eyes rove Arthur’s face, tightening at the careful neutrality he finds there.

“Don’t,” he says lowly, gripping the back of Arthur’s neck. “Don’t you dare doubt this.” Arthur slides an arm around Merlin and pulls him close, too tired to reopen old wounds, the same circular conversations.

“It’s never been like that for me,” Merlin whispers, voice laced with emotion, clutching Arthur’s arms.

“Nor me,” Arthur replies truthfully, still feeling raw and exposed, and wishing he’d used his year and a half after Gwen to experiment a little, so he feels slightly less at a disadvantage as far as Merlin is concerned.

“You’re so beautiful,” Merlin breathes, tangling his limbs with Arthur’s. Arthur runs his forefinger down the worried crease between Merlin’s eyebrows and smiles.

“Nowhere near as beautiful as you,” he disagrees, and he smiles as Merlin flushes pink, face breaking into the most endearing, besotted, bashful grin that Arthur’s ever seen.

*

Arthur wakes to Merlin sprawled across him, grey light filtering through the curtains again. His body aches in a way it hasn’t before, and he flexes muscles tentatively, assessing the extent of his discomfort. Merlin rubs his face against Arthur’s chest, muffling adorably disgruntled morning noises against his skin. Arthur’s heart clenches, churning with overflowing, conflicting emotions; unconditional love, happy excitement, bone-deep relief, doubt that this can last, terror at the fragility of the precious thing they’ve breathed to life. He strokes the shell of an over-large ear as Merlin snuffles against him, rubbing the knob at the top of his spine, and feeling the tension ease out of Merlin’s back as he settles into deep sleep again.

Arthur slides out from beneath him and gets dressed quietly, shivering as he leaves the house and emerges into another wet dawn. He runs cross-country to the wooded glen hundreds of tourists will flock to later today, famed as a fairy hot spot, rainbow springs bubbling up in a natural phenomena that makes the glade glow iridescently. Every time he feels the urge to detach from this, to run away, to shut it down before he loses himself in Merlin, he pushes himself harder, driving the demons from his mind, refusing to let them win. He’s mud-splattered and soaking and aching and exhausted by the time he traipses home, body screaming at him.

Merlin is sitting on the sofa cradling coffee when he gets in, face pale against the darkness of the room. He looks at Arthur warily, expecting the worst. Arthur kicks off his trainers and peels off his muddy clothes, dropping them on the mat in the doorway so that he doesn’t spread mud through the house.

“I have to have a hot shower _now_ ,” Arthur apologises, practically running into the bedroom. “Give me five minutes.” He comes out warmer, and pads over to lie beside Merlin on the sofa, currently flicking through the morning TV channels - cooking shows and wildlife programmes. Merlin curls an arm around him tentatively, and Arthur snuggles back against him, intertwining their fingers.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers quietly, and it’s a question, somehow. Arthur turns around. “You don’t regret it?” Merlin asks. Arthur shakes his head.

“Hurts like hell this morning though,” he grimaces. Merlin flushes and kisses him softly.

“I checked last night - there was no damage,” he promises. Arthur hugs Merlin close to him.

“I don’t mind,” he reassures Merlin. “Being close to you like that is amazing.” He feels Merlin pressing kisses along his hairline, soothing, clever fingers massaging Arthur’s aching lower back, rubbing lightly across his bottom.

“You know, I actually prefer bottoming,” Merlin admits with quiet, shy candour, and Arthur blinks his eyes open, touched by Merlin’s honesty, by his obvious desire to be _known_ by Arthur. “I’m happy to top too, of course,” Merlin continues hurriedly. “Obviously it’s important to be able to switch in a relationship.”

The fact that he’s tripping over his words and double-guessing himself despite being the ‘experienced’ one, settles something profound in Arthur. Merlin is nervous and desperate for this to work too. Not to get it wrong. Arthur kisses him.

“That’s good to know,” he smiles, sliding a hand beneath Merlin’s bottoms and over the smooth swell of his arse with a newfound confidence. Merlin twitches with a soft moan, and Arthur feels him hardening against his thigh. He peels back in surprise. “Wow. You really do like handing over control,” he murmurs, running a hand down Merlin’s back. Merlin nods a little breathlessly.

“The thought of it with you, especially,” he admits, eyes flickering up towards Arthur’s as he presses himself against Arthur, rubbing himself against him with barely constrained impatience. “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” he breathes out, clutching at Arthur with visible need. “You have _no_ idea how many times I’ve fantasised about you taking me.” Arthur can’t help but respond to Merlin’s words, to the hunger and quiet urgency in his voice.

“That makes two of us,” he whispers, kissing Merlin with intention. He feels suddenly selfish - he’s only been seeing all of this from his own perspective. He hasn’t thought about what Merlin might want - and need - from him too. “Shall we rectify my shortcomings?” Merlin nods, tamping down on an already muted whimper. A damp patch is forming at the crotch of his pyjama bottoms.

“Christ,” Arthur mutters. “How is this real?”

He stands up and pulls Merlin through into the bedroom, pushing him down on to the bed and peeling off his pyjamas, leaving him exposed. He kneels above him, running hands across the pale expanse of skin, kissing trails down Merlin’s body, rolling him on to his belly and licking over his hole in tentative exploration. Merlin’s full body shudder, his taut fingers clutching at the bedspread, is answer enough. Arthur salvages Merlin’s lube from the beside table and squeezes a generous amount over Merlin’s hole, pushing two impatient fingers in and crooking them until he finds the bundle of nerves that he’s looking for. Merlin writhes uncontrollably, undecipherable mutters and pleas tumbling into the sheets as he ruts against the bed.

Reducing him to this - a mass of sensation, need, animalistic desire, pure passion - is a revelation to Arthur. Seeing Merlin’s clear, undeniable need for him, subdues his insecurities. He moves to lie over Merlin’s body and pushes inside quickly, knowing he doesn’t need to be as careful with Merlin as Merlin was with him; Merlin is practiced at sharing his body. His moan tells Arthur how much he likes it, and so Arthur begins to thrust in and out, hips snapping hard and rough and demanding and possessive, finally claiming Merlin for himself, finally the one inside his body, finally the one giving him pleasure.

Merlin moans his name again and again, body tensing every time Arthur hits his prostate, and Arthur presses his chest down against Merlin’s back, pinning Merlin’s wrists to the bed, gently biting the base of his throat as he drives inside Merlin. Suddenly Merlin spasms beneath him, eventually going still. Arthur realises that he’s come without being touched, now sliding in the damp pool of his own semen as Arthur continues to snap his hips above him. Finally Arthur can feel his own climax building, closing his eyes and completely surrendering himself to the moment, gasping as he pumps himself deep inside Merlin, lungs squeezing at the intimacy of what they’ve now shared with each other.

They lie entwined, sticky, dosing, for uncountable minutes, maybe hours. It feels like time is on slow motion, that the world is rotating to a halt, everything heavy and honied, as Arthur pushes inside Merlin again and again, every time he hardens, fills him again and again, extracts release after release from him. They don’t speak at all. Just touch. It’s as though the dam has broken and all their pent up need for physical contact has been released; they can’t stop stroking, looking, taking what they need from each other. The air smells like sex and the curtains are still half-closed, window foggy with condensation, rain still pouring outside.

Merlin’s stomach and thighs are streaked with dried - and still glistening - come, he has purple love bites at his neck and across his shoulders, bruises on his hips from Arthur’s clutching fingers, and Arthur wants to photograph him in this moment because every mark belongs to Arthur, his body is stamped with Arthur’s possession, and Merlin has given Arthur ownership totally and freely.

“I feel like a brute,” Arthur croaks out after hours of orgasmic silence, trailing fingers over his marks. Merlin looks down at himself with a shrug.

“I like it,” he says lightly, although his eyes are serious.

“Still,” Arthur frowns. “Wait here.” He runs a hot bath, and drags Merlin into it, back to Arthur’s chest, lying between Arthur’s thighs. He strokes a sponge gently across Merlin’s body, carefully removing all traces of their ardour. Merlin keeps his eyes closed, face pressed into Arthur’s neck as Arthur looks after him.

“I want you to be my boyfriend,” Merlin says quietly. “I want us to find somewhere to live together in London, and to do this properly. We’ve wasted enough time.” Arthur kisses Merlin’s hair.

“I agree,” he replies with a smile, leaning down to kiss Merlin when he looks up at Arthur in surprise.

“Full-on, hardcore, exclusive monogamy and arguments and unrealistic expectations and inevitable disappointment - everything,” Merlin clarifies. Arthur nods wryly.

“Full-on disappointment, I promise.” Merlin settles against his chest again comfortably.

“Good,” he mumbles, smiling as Arthur nuzzles his hair.

*

In the end, it all happens quite quickly. Fitting together, slotting into the cracks and gaps of each other’s lives, healing each other’s hurts, forgiving each other’s secrets, their respective, unintended betrayals.

Their lives have been entangled for so long it barely feels different, sometimes, although the texture of their togetherness has changed; the colour has morphed into something bolder, new.

Arthur once read that if relationships were art, people were like paints. If red oil paint met blue oil paint and mixed together, their textures and pigments and particular hues would eventually create a new thing - the colour purple. Two compatible people, substances, individual entities, able to seamlessly combine into something united and beautiful. A rare moment of perfect alchemy when all the elements balance to make something chemically original and singular.

Merlin and Arthur have accidentally smudged their red and blue lines throughout the years, the possibility of purple always flickering tantalisingly along their borders. Now it’s total unification. They are jointly purple, their combined hue changing as the nuances and textures of their individual colours evolve and change.

The push and pull of it reminds Arthur of the sea; waves breaking on the shore, retreating, returning, retreating, returning, destined to follow the same rhythm for eternity, pulled ever-inwards by the magnetism of the moon. They are each other’s magnets, and their mellow tides settle into something Arthur knows and trusts to be true, constant. A constancy that one day brings gold rings and public promises and inked signatures and shared keys. And a framed poem, written in Merlin’s scrawling hand, _An Ode to Love_. It speaks of gaps and chasms filled with love and meaning, small miracles that make life in all its drudgery worth living, and of gratitude, above all else, for all those blessed with the magic of a peculiar brand of alchemy that most people only dream about. A mystical process of transformation, in which two ordinary souls can turn each other into gold.

>>>

**_Ode_ **

by Arthur O’Shaughnessy 

But on one man's soul it hath broken,

A light that doth not depart;

And his look, or a word he hath spoken,

Wrought flame in another man's heart.

>>>

_Finis_


End file.
